


Le Roman de la Rose  (Guillaume de Dole)

by Mme10thDoctor



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Historical, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-29 10:50:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5124767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mme10thDoctor/pseuds/Mme10thDoctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Lady, a Lord, an arranged marriage, and a true (courtly) love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1: A peace offering

**Author's Note:**

> For this fic, I took my inspiration from a true story happened in 1285 in the north of Italy: Gianciotto Malatesta stabbed to death his wife Francesca da Rimini and his brother Paolo, suspecting them of cheating on him.  
> The poet Dante Alighieri has written about them on his _Commedia_ (chant V of his _Inferno_ ). The scenes of Rose and John reading courtly books (namely Lancelot and Guinevere) are directly inspired by Dante.
> 
> In my fic, obviously, my characters have their happy ending. For the sake of the story the events take place in 1356 —under the reign of King Edward III— during the “Hundred years' war” (1337-1453) between the King of England and the King of France. 
> 
> I do love courtly literature and that time period, but, alas, I'm not a medievalist, so all historical (or other) mistakes are mine. I've tried to adapt, nevertheless, their way of thinking to ours just to rend the story more understandable trying, in the meantime, not to betray too much their manners. 
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy reading as much I've enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Unbeta'd so every single mistake is mine.

_The firste stock-father of gentleness,_  
What man desireth gentle for to be,  
Must follow his trace, and all his wittes dress,  
Virtue to love, and vices for to flee;  
For unto virtue longeth dignity,  
And not the reverse, safely dare I deem,  
All wear he mitre, crown, or diademe.

A Ballad of Gentleness (Geoffrey Chaucer 1343- 1400) 1st Stanza

 

Chapter 1: A peace offering

Peter Tyler, Lord of Powell, was a peaceful man: more inclined to spend his time making plans for new extraordinary inventions that making war (or focusing on the intrigues of court) like many of his peers. He was also a modern —and rather handsome— man, in his ideas and manners, dressed in the latest fashion. He had, however, very countercurrent ideas on love and marriage.

His wife, Lady Jacqueline, was a beautiful woman with an energetic temperament, but also a professional complainer with big mouth but big heart. She was passionately in love with her husband and her children, Rose and Tony, whom she'd have defended with her whole being.

Rose had inherited her blond hair and the strong personality —bordering stubbornness for some particular matters— from her mother, and the beautiful light hazel eyes, plus an inquiring mind, from her father. As for the young Tony, he was the spitting image of his father, except for his mother's beautiful sparkling and mischievous blue eyes.

That morning, however, the —usually— imperturbable Lord Powell, was pacing up and down in front of the fireplace, where some logs were burning despite the beautiful season, holding a letter in his hand.

"What is it? Bad news? The war? The French again?" Lady Jacqueline put her needle work aside, and turned her attention to her husband a worried look in her beautiful expressive eyes.

"No, love. I've only just received a letter which leaves me perplexed: the old Lord Gallifrey has written to propose to stop our disputes through an alliance between our two families."

"You're not seriously thinking about it, I hope? What kind of alliance can we build with them? We're arch-enemies since the dawn of time-"

The master of the castle raised his hand interrupting his wife. "Exactly. Generations of blood shed for nothing. It has to stop. Do you really wish for Tony to leave to for the battle as soon as he'll be able to wield a sword?"

"Of course not," exclaimed Lady Jacqueline, "but what can we do about it? How to stop this? Do you trust this family? "

"This is precisely what proposes me the old Gallifrey: more than a truce, it's an outright ceasefire. Provided that..."

"Provided that what? I trust him as much as the plague. And you should do the same!" Jacqueline was in her fight mode, hand raised as if to slap an imaginary enemy, eyes blazing with rage."

Peter Tyler turned his back to her and stared at the fire burning in the fireplace. "Provided that we marry our children, creating an alliance between the two families. His eldest son Rassilon and our daughter Rose."

Lady Powell was, for once, without words. To appear composed, she sat down again and resumed her needle work.

"What do you think my love? Do you think this is reasonable?" Lord Powell had turned again and was staring at her with a soft look. "We also have to think about Tony's political career."

"Predominately, I think that you must talk with our daughter."

He sighed, "Of course. But would you agree if she accepted? It's an old family, of very good stock and good breed, and aside our disputes, I've never heard anything evil about them."

"The only thing I'm interested in is that our daughter is happy. Can you promise me that our daughter will be treated with all the regard? That she will be loved and respected?"

Lord Peter walked up to his wife, and with one hand gently lifted her chin placing a wet kiss on her lips. "Maybe she'll have our chance. Even an arranged marriage can become a love marriage. I don't care what fashion says about marriage and its incompatibility with love. Look at us, my dear, haven't we made all proverbs lie? I fell in love as soon as I laid my eyes on you. I've never regretted a single moment having married you. Have you?"

"No. Never! Not for a single moment. What I want for our children is a marriage of love, not a war or political marriage. We are rich enough to afford to offer this to Rose and Tony. Without any other considerations than their inclinations."

"She will, I'm sure. No man can remain ice hearted face our Rose. He'll love her, for sure. Not only is she beautiful, but she has a loving and compassionate heart. Rose is a true angel of beauty and sweetness. She's your daughter, after all."

Jacqueline Tyler sighed again and stood up to settle comfortably into her husband's embrace. "Promise me, you'll talk to her and assure her that she’s not obliged!"

He tightened her even more against him. "I'll write to her, I promise."

-o-

In the nearby convent where she perfected her education, Rose pointed excitedly her father's letter to her lady-in-waiting (who was also her best friend and confidante). "So, what do you think? Should I marry the son of Lord Gallifrey? He's the eldest, therefore he'll inherit lands and castles. I'll honor the name of Powell and facilitate a good marriage for Tony. And above all," she winked to Martha,"we'll get out of the convent faster than we thought."

"Do you reckon, my Damsel, that he has gentle heart and noble appearance?" asked Martha busying around the very long, adherent sleeves of Rose's kirtle, her mind full of romantic thoughts.

"It is my duty, Martha, I must marry well, and if by this union I can stop this fratricidal war between our two families, I'll do willingly. Who knows if I'll be lucky enough to find love as my parents have. I'm quite disposed to love him." Rose smiled to her friend and adjusted her caul. "Furthermore, my dear Martha, you're too imbibed of courtly literature."

"But you know very well that your parents are exception. Everyone knows that we cannot find love within marriage but only outside. Admit, my Damsel, that you either aren't against the valiant knights and the rules of courtly love. The poets-"

"Martha, poets are just poets. I want a solid and true love, beautiful, healthy and happy children. I want my parents to be proud of me. Stop all these nonsenses and help me with my Houppelande."

 

Rose, back from their walk in the gardens, finally sat down at her writing case and cheerfully wrote her father to inform him of her acceptance.

 

-o-

Upon receiving Lord Powell's response —and exchanging countless messages to define the details of the marriage contract— the old Lord Gallifrey, unceremoniously summoned his two elder sons.

Lord Gallifrey was an authoritarian, domineering man, more comfortable on the battlefields than amongst court intrigues. Alas he was getting older, and the more older he became, the more he was taken by political, expansionist, and monetary ambitions. He wanted that the son who wore his name, his eldest, inherited a very large domain and continues his valiant and proud knights' noble lineage.  
Hence he had set his sights on some of Lord Powell's lands and daughter.

The two families were at loggerheads from time immemorial. Since so distant times that no one remembered -or cared about- the reason of theirs hostilities.  
An alliance between the two families, amongst the most prestigious of England, would bring wealth and prestige.  
This is why the old Rassilon wrote his offer to Lord Powell.

A summon from their formidable father wasn't to be taken lightly, thus the two elder sons answered it with alacrity, and for at least one of them, with concern in the pit of his stomach.  
Rassilon jr, the eldest, was, to say the least, ungraceful, or shortly said: ugly, full stop. Furthermore, saddened with a deformation since his birth, he limped (which made him earn the nickname of _the lame_ ). He had also inherited the tumultuous and somewhat brutal and bloodthirsty father's temperament, therefore was away most of his time in search of enemies to defeat.  
He wasn't really a bad guy, but he would have been a much better person if his education had been placed in other hands.

John, on the contrary, had inherited their mother's constitution and beauty (which valued him the nickname of _the handsome_ ), his joints were delicate, despite being very tall, and his features were distinguished. No one, seeing him, could have doubted his noble ancestries. As for his character -inherited too from his mother, it could be defined as romantic, idealistic and somewhat rebellious to his father's chagrin, who saw in it a sad moral laxity. Yet, despite his father's opinion, John handled very well spear, bow and sword, though he much preferred to exercise his talents in tournaments and jousting than on the battlefield.

"You are going to marry Damsel Rose, Lord Powell's daughter." Rassilon informed briefly his elder son. 

"But father we are at war, I have to fight for the honor of the family and the Crown, king Edward promised me lands if-"

The old Lord merely threw a glare against the perpetrator of the interruption. "The wedding is planned in three months. As tradition dictates, I will send an envoy who will marry the Damsel in your name —by proxy." He threw a contemptuous glance at his son's ugly features and shrugged: "Moreover, I do not want to see my plans compromised by your appearance. The later she sees you and the better it will be."

His son blushed with rage and shame but didn't dare protest against his dreadful father.

John began to understand where his father was getting at (id est: why he had summoned him). He wanted nothing to deal with the deception towards this family in general —and the young Damsels in particular. However, being the youngest, he hadn't got a word to say on the matter; he had only to comply with his father's compelling orders. He felt sorry for the poor girl's fate.

Lord Gallifrey finally turned to his younger son and stared at him with his piercing gaze: "You will leave on time and marry Damsel Rose in your brother's name. That's all, you may leave." Rassilon turned back his attention to his account books.

-o-

This was how, three months later, while his brother Rassilon was gone participate in another skirmish somewhere in the Kingdom, John, with a heavy heart, left in turn directed towards the Lord Powell's lands.  
The Powell Castle was beautiful: under Lady Jacqueline's influence, their main dwelling was equipped with the most modern and finest comforts.  
A reception committee stood before the drawbridge lowered for the occasion. The Powell's banners and coats of arms were everywhere.

Frescoes —representing the members of the household and theirs ancestors in allegorical scenes— covered the walls of the main rooms of the ground floor, and stained multicolored glass windows covered the double lancet windows. In the other rooms they passed through, tapestries —with mythological and hunting scenes in vivid colors— were hanging on the walls. John couldn't help whistling mentally at so much opulence and distinction. He, however, exchanged glances with his best friend and fellow knight Jack Harkness.  
The difference between the two castles was startling: If Gallifrey Castle was the brand of the soldier in its austerity, Powell Castle bore the mark of refinement and luxury coziness.

John and suite were received with all the honors due to his rank and led before the Lord of the castle —who received them with all the affability and courtesy of his rank and character.  
The finest banquet, with all the best products of Lord Powell's lands and hunting, was erected in the groom's honor.  
Several services were provided, and knives were even offered to the most important guests.  
The most refined dishes were presented them: the most delicious stews, roasts seasoned with the most valuable spices and sweetest honey, the freshest and tenderest vegetables, the most entertaining amusements.

John's gaze was immediately drawn towards a young blonde woman who had the most amazing and laughing eyes he had ever seen. She was strikingly beautiful. His brother, as usual, was incredibly lucky. It wasn't difficult to guess that, before him, draped in a blue silk dress lined with fur, with a long train —also lined with ermine— stood Damsel Rose. With her beautiful golden hair worn in two braids beneath her jeweled caul she was breathtaking.

Rose was in full conversation with her companion, a girl with dark hair of about the same age, she also of great beauty. The two girls exchanged knowing looks and murmured tremendously, leaving delicate laughters pearl here and there.

The banquet was a success, he tried to flaunt the greatest politeness and had the chance and the honour to exchange some words with Damsel Rose. He was under the charm: this young woman was grace incarnated, she was an angel, the quintessence of what was beautiful in the world. She was the epitome of the woman whom poets and troubadours sang praise.

-o-

Later in the evening, Martha —as usual— helped her friend to undress one last time in her father's castle.

Rose, dreamy look exclaimed, "He has noble and pure features."

"And he's handsome, and pleasant of his person, which doesn't harm." Martha laughed.

"Yes, he has distinguished features," replied Rose blushing lightly.

"He's handsome. Admit it my Damsels. Have you seen his beautiful brown eyes? You'll be so happy."

"Beauty has nothing to do with happiness." Admonished, smiling though, her friend.

That night, Rose, went to bed and dreamed of her husband to be, of knights, tournaments and courtly love.

 

That very evening, the husband's representative, had a troubled night. The image of the young woman —with golden hair and eyes as precious as amber— recurred incessantly. Actually, he spent the night having the wild hope that, against all odds, the marriage wouldn't take place. She didn't deserve to have her fate linked to an uneducated brute such as his brother.

 

Yet the next day, the wedding took place and it was with a slightly trembling hand that he accepted the young woman in his brother’s name.


	2. Courtly love (and a taste of the good life)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where a special guest character appears, and shares the main characters' vicissitudes.

_All he desires,  
the lover must request delicately  
and the lady will give him.  
But she must well choose her moment.  
The lover must pray and make himself at her disposal.  
Whether his lover or his lady wisdom  
the lady owes honor to the friend  
as a companion and not as a lord_.

Maria de Ventadorn (1180-1205) is listed as a trobairitz 

 

Chapter 2 : Courtly love (and a taste of the good life)

Rose —hooded blue mantle hanging in silky pleats around her traveling dress— hugged one last time her parents with tears in her eyes, and promised her mother that she would be happy in her new home.

The sadness of leaving behind her childhood and the loving cocoon that had accompanied her throughout her life, mingled with the joyful anticipation of her future life with a husband having such a pleasant and noble manners and... appearance.

Alas, Rose, in her virginal innocence, wasn't quite aware of the intricacies of marriage by proxy: the man who had been introduced to her as Rassilon, future Lord of Gallifrey, was actually only his representative.

Little did she know that the man she had really married was so far from the ideals of chivalry and courtly love that she cherished, than light was far from a moonless night.

In her defense it must be said that the old Lord had forbidden any living soul to dispel any doubt as to the real identity of the groom, under penalty of a mercilessly punishment.

After a two full days ride, Rose, her suite and her escort finally reached —tired and muddy— the heavy doors of Gallifrey Castle.

Her husband had entertained her throughout their trip, amusing her with stories of jousts and tournaments, noblewomen and valiant knights. He had recited her poems and songs. In short he had been absolutely perfect.

Upon her arrival, she experienced what became her first disappointment: others followed.

The drawbridge was up, and all in the appearance of the castle, beginning with its blackened stones, showed the austerity and negligence of a master busier at wage war, than enjoying the comforts of indoor living. This castle visibly —and cruelly— lacked of a woman's hand and influence. Instead of countless pages and household busy in a task or another, she found, welcoming her, an impressive number of soldiers, all dressed as for an imminent departure. Instead of cheerful songs, she heard only brief orders barked from one wing to the other.

Her second disappointment was to see her husband leave her abruptly —with just a simple bow of his head, and without his customary politeness— into the chambermaids' hands who led Rose to her new domain.

There, however, she was hosted by the former nanny who had remained at the castle after busying herself with the youngest Lords and Damsels. This warm and loving woman, had subsequently —and almost entirely— taken late Lady Gallifrey's place when the Black Death of 1348 had struck the castle (and whole Europe) bringing in endless bereavement.

Sarah Jane greeted her with open arms, and pressed Rose affectionately against her chest, the nanny's eyes shining with tenderness and sympathy for the young bride: she would need all the support she could be provided.

"Come, my Lady, I've ordered a collation for you, to restore your strength after this long journey, then I'll bring you to your husband so that you get acquainted. He has just returned from his last battle and will be pleased to finally meet you."

Rose, taken aback, exclaimed frowning. "Get acquainted? But we just made a long journey together and he entertained me in the most pleasant manners."

"Didn't they tell you? Of course they didn't. That resembles my master!" Sarah Jane shook her head disapprovingly, and patted gently Rose's hand. 

Rose was so shocked by the sudden news that she couldn't say anything,

"Come, and don't worry my Lady, your husband won't eat you. Although he, sometimes, looks like a dragon, he spits more smoke than fire."

After restoring the traveller, Sarah Jane led her through innumerable corridors. Rose couldn't help but notice how the walls seemed cold and damp, as they were stripped of any wall décor.

Finally they stopped before a heavy door which proved to access the arms room.

Sarah Jane stepped forward, gently leading Rose. "Sir Rassilon, here is your wife, Lady Rose."

Rose bowed her head slightly in greeting, but said nothing. This boorish looking man intimidated and disconcerted her. Therefore, she could only observe him secretly. The husband that fate had given her, was shorter and thicker than his brother. His hair, as black as ebony, were short and he wore a beard (which was, just as his hair, decidedly against the current fashion). Everything in him indicated the rude soldier, even his blue eyes which had the coldness of steel.

Rassilon didn't bother to drop his sword, nor bowed to host her, but studied Rose during long minutes without saying a word.

Rose was becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

Finally he spoke: "If you respect the duties of your state, you'll have nothing to regret from this union."

His words, even though innocuous enough, seen the situation, had nevertheless the power to freeze her, so much unwound of the warmth she felt entitled to expect of a spouse. "I know my duties Sir." Was her, equally cold, response.

"Very well, then remember them, my Lady." He turned back to his page and showed him, with a sudden gesture, that the lesson wasn't over, and while giving wordless leave to his wife, he resumed his exercises.

-o-

The following days and weeks only deepened Lady Rose's disappointment. Or better said: her disappointments —plural. They became so numerous that she had finally given up counting them.

Neither her husband nor her brother-in-law were visible. If with regard to her husband, her disappointment was much lesser than it should have been (since she was in no hurry to start bending to her conjugal duties), the thing was quite different about her brother-in law's absence.

Rose was angry and shameful for feeling —so strongly— John's absence, but she kept saying to herself that it was only because she lacked a friendly person helping her to face a stepfather who terrified her even more than her husband.

Whenever Martha, with her incorrigible romantic soul, spoke —jesting— about John, Rose affirmed that she was only missing a person of quality. But, obviously, Martha knew better.

Finally, one morning, she grew bolder and inquired —casually— to the former nanny, about her brother-in-law's absence.

"Sir John has returned to the Tardis Castle, my Lady, he doesn't live here. As for Sir your husband, he spends most of his time in the arms room or on the battlefields."

Rose spent long hours strolling in the gardens: it was the only place which showed a female attention. The gardens were, in fact, Sarah Jane's domain and the main purpose of her daily walks; the two women met there almost every morning.

The friendship and esteem between them was growing over time. Moreover, Martha and the former nanny, were the only women with whom she could talk and confide to.

This is how Rose learned more about the family she had entered.

"My master, I mean your stepfather, has been a widower for eight years but has never remarried. I know he may appear abrupt and harsh but he's a good soldier —just as your husband. I've served this family since before the young Lord Rassilon's birth and I know them well. The old Lord Gallifrey is a man of few words —not affable according to the new fashion, so to speak, but he has never been iniquitous. He is a man of honor."

"And my brother-in-law, Lord John?" Rose wasn't able to refrain from inquiring —cursing herself for not being able to prevent the red coloring her cheeks.

Sarah Jane looked suddenly nostalgic and dreamy. "Lord John is the living portrait of late Lady Gallifrey. In both semblances and mind. He's a delicate soul, yet valiant and brave who defend the widow and the orphan, he's a generous young man. And a man of letters and science. He spends his time doing only good."

Her brother-in-law's description made her think about her own father, and Rose was taken by a great melancholy: she missed her family terribly. But, at the same time, she felt increasingly attracted by this young man, so alike her courtly ideals and so different from her own husband. She wished she could know more about this brave knight, but dared not ask.

Some time after this conversation with Sarah Jane (which she reported, verbatim, to Martha), her husband came to find her in her boudoir.

Rassilon didn't encumber, as usual, with frivolous details such as common decency. "my Lady, I'm leaving at once. War rages and my father will accompany me. My brother will protect the castle and your virtue. I hope you'll deserve my trust." 

Rose didn't have time to utter a single word, as her husband had already left the room, in a clang of armor, without granting her a farewell.

-o-

Her brother-in-law had arrived at the castle for several days now, yet their relationship hadn't —anymore— the quality and the warmth of the days they had traveled together. He seemed, on the opposite, almost avoid her and he was often plunged into a dark and pensive reverie.

Martha seemed unable to stop suggesting that John pined for her, that he must be deeply enamored and deeply saddened by his hopeless love. "It's just like the books, my Lady, a noble soul who is dying from love for an unattainable lady, whose union is mismatched. If he loved you with a less shallow love, he could whisper sweet nothings in your ear and court you according to the decorum-"

"Martha, don't get ideas inside my mind, they'll only harm me. I'm married to Lord Rassilon and my honor and virtue require me to respect the bonds of marriage. I owe and I want it. I have no leisure to think about him."

Despite her rhetoric, Lady Rose's mind was almost entirely occupied by her brother-in-law: her heart was love-drunk.

-o-

In the meanwhile, John was fighting the same verbal joust against his best friend: for Jack urged him to court —with honorable intentions, of course — the Lady of his friend's thoughts.

"John, I appreciate your delicacy and respect for the fair Lady but, dammit, are you obliged to make yourself hateful to the woman you love?"

"Have you ever seen such beauty and grace? Such virginal innocence? Such nobility, greatness and loving kindness? Such beauty to rival the angels? Have you seen her golden hair?"

"Surely Lady Rose is the paroxysm of grace and beauty. But she's also a fashionable woman, who reads the poets and will appreciate that such perfections are praised. As it should be."

"I'm scared of not being able to stop along the way if I take that path."

"Just show her your respect and admiration. Read poems to her, go hunt together, bring her with you when you train your falcon. It's by admiring her that you will respect her. It's the duty attached to your rank, and the minimum expected for such a Lady. Without taking in account the charm of being pleasant to... _her_." Jack enphasized his last word, giving John a knowing look.

 

John spent the following few days thinking long and carefully about the matter. The question was that he was really in love with his sister-in-law. It wouldn't be, for him, just the sort of love dictated by fashion; but it was really a deep and unswerving love that rendered him shy.  
He was torn between the desire to see Lady Rose and spend time with her, and the desire —just as much irrepressible— to flee as far as possible.

The result of his reflections led him to finally look for her company. He brought her with him the days he trained his falcon, they went hunting together, and he taught her archery. All these activities appropriately chaperoned, of course, by Martha and Jack.

On rainy days, they sat by the fire, and John read to her while she was busy with her embroidery.

He read to Lady Rose about young prince Conrad and beautiful Liénor's adventures, about valiant Guillaume de Dole and his enterprises, about tournaments and jousts.

Rose begun to put aside —more and more often— the needle, until she abandoned it all together.

Gradually, as if by magic, their chaperons found activities that kept them in other places than those where John and Lady Rose spent their free time.

Then, one day, they began reading about King Arthur's adventures, about Merlin, the valiant knight Lancelot and Queen Guinevere. 

He emboldened to the point of sitting next to Rose, heart pounding and senses full of her.

He read —voice trembling with emotion— knight Lancelot's love for the beautiful queen, the quest for the Holy Grail and his trials to earn the right to aspire to love her.

John couldn't help but notice the similarity between his predicament and the valiant knight's: just as Lancelot, he loved an unattainable Lady —who was by far his superior in rank and character, just as Lancelot he was going to face trials where it was necessary to show courage and a pure heart to win the right to love his fair Lady .

John had reached the point where Lancelot obtains, finally, a kiss from Queen Guinevere: he looked up from the book, and the next second —as if drawn by a magnet— he was laying his eyes on Rose's red and full lips.

The rest happened as in a dream, and at the speed of lightning.

The previous second he was still looking at her, and the next he was laying his burning mouth on Rose's lips.

Before she'd realize the seriousness of his actions, he had already fled leaving Lady Rose face what had happened.

Alas, if the scene had lasted only the duration of a heartbeat, and was still coated with confusion for both participants, it had had a spectator.

-o-

Harold Saxon, Rassilon's steward and henchman, had witnessed the scene hidden behind a door.

Indeed he had been watching closely the two young people for a long time, in the hope that a similar scene would take place, and he expected great rewards —for himself— from his master, at his announcement of his young bride's and his brother's misdeeds.

He wasted no time to send a messenger to Rassilon with the account — _slightly_ magnified— of the facts.

Little did Harold Saxon know that if he spent his time spying on the chatelaine, Jack Harkness spent his time watching, very closely, him.

Jack distrusted Saxon: he was aware of the thirst for power, the love for wealth, plus the hatred and jealousy that the steward wore in his heart. It wasn't difficult to expect a senseless jest, thus monitor the man.

That's why he was able to act fast to short-circuit at best Harold Saxon's actions.

Warn his friend was an easy task and was done in a matter of minutes. 

If John was exasperating slow in the affairs of his heart, he was very fast at the decision and execution in all other domains.

John, therefore, precipitated into Lady Rose's boudoir, and without burdening himself with other considerations (including customary or polite greetings), he told her in an urgent and concerned voice: "My Lady, we must flee."


	3. On the run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Four main ideas in the tradition of courtly love:  
> \- The lover is lovesick and thinks all the time to his lover, he lives for her and can't sleep;  
> \- Love must always be secret;  
> \- True love doesn't exist within marriage (all marriages were about interest and convenience);  
> \- Woman is worshipped.
> 
>  
> 
> Unbeta'd

_By her joy a sick man can recover,_  
by her wrath one well can die,  
a wise man turn to childishness,  
a fine man see his beauty change,  
the most courtly man become a churl,  
and any churl become courtly.

Guillaume IX Count of Poitiers and Duke of Aquitaine (1100-1124-27) 1st Stanza

 

Chapter 3: On the run

" _My Lady, we must flee._ "

"Flee? What for ? Are the French at the door? Are we under siege?" Rose asked anxiously.

"None of that, my Lady, but we have been caught and my brother's steward has just sent a messenger to your husband. He just left full gallop." John couldn't help but blush at the mere mention of what had happened with Lady Rose.

Rose, too, blushed deeply but said calmly and head high: "I have nothing to be ashamed of. I will face my husband with my head held high, and pure heart." 

"You mustn't even consider it! Lady Rose, you don't know Rassilon as I do. He's bloodthirsty and without mercy. He will try to defend his honour. You know what that means." John was beginning to lose hope of convincing his stubborn sister-in-law.

"I didn't do anything, Sir. And my place is in the castle, by my lord and master's side. I'll explain and he will understand."

John was losing patience. "Lady Rose, you have to leave. It's about your very existence and your suite's." He knew that he magnified the danger, but make her noble heart feel guilty was the only way to keep her safe.

"Martha is also in danger? Will he also attack my suite and my maids?" Rose paled.

"Yes, my Lady, and Sarah Jane." John assured her as seriously as possible.

"Be it. But be aware that if I go, it's only to protect my suite and with a pure heart; not out of cowardice or guilt."

 

In the meantime, Jack was making a similar approach with Martha and the former nanny.

Sarah Jane, who had known the young Lord since his birth —and had also witnessed, repeatedly, the malevolence of his steward— took the threat very seriously.

Martha, either, wasn't difficult to convince: very swiftly she had filled a small coffer with Rose's jewelry and was busy with her Ladyship's clothes chests.

"Martha, we have neither the time nor the leisure to complete the other chests. Lady Rose will find everything she might need where we go." He made a few steps to leave but turned and pleaded," I'll apprise the squires and some other men, among the most faithful, of our ordeal. But please, hurry, we must be gone at dusk. I'll personally take care of distracting Harold Saxon."

-o- 

While their small group rode through the forest, Martha recounted her interview with Jack and listened, in turn, to Rose's story. She suspected that, one day or another, one of them would succumb and confess his —or her— feelings to the other, therefore she frankly asked Lady Rose the question.

"You are wrong, Martha. There had been no words spoken. I don't know if he loves me, or even if he appreciates me."

"But, my Lady, he kissed you. It must mean something," pleaded her friend.

"No, Martha, it means nothing. Not for him, I'm sure. This was just an accident. He had just let himself being affected by the book."

Martha, discouraged, shook her head: "Lady Rose, you are the only one who still doubts his feelings. He has a pure and noble heart, he wouldn't have acted that way —even if the etiquette and moral might condemn it— unless he was sincerely, and beyond all control, in love."

 

Within a stone's throw, John and his friend's conversation had taken a similar turn.

"What I'm going to do, Jack? I've sullied Lady Rose's reputation forever. She will never forgive me, I'll die of total despair."

"She loves you from the bottom of her angelic heart. John, you saved her life, as well as her suite's. She'll be forever grateful. In her eyes you're the valiant knight who protects the weak."

"No, I'm the one who forced her to flee. The one who has ruined her reputation and sullied her honest heart. How could I ever fix my transgression? I've lost the right to demonstrate her my admiration, my respect and my love."

"Go abroad, where nobody knows you, and live as husband and wife. And request the cancellation of her union. Rassilon will be obliged to bestow it upon her." Jack advised his friend.

"Don't even think about it. Living as a married couple without our union being sacred by the church? Moreover she'll never accept to make her misfortune public." John was positively horrified. Sometimes his friend's nonchalance and free manners frightened him. Jack looked like a man who came from another century.

"Listen to my advice, Sir, one step at a time. Don't put too many irons in the fire. Let us reach safety first, and the rest will be advised. Everything will work out. A pure heart and a brave soul will always receive his reward." He quoted.

John hadn't dared send a messenger to the friends whom he intended ask hospitality for he dared too much that Saxon would learn where they had taken refuge.

For obvious reasons, there was no way that they go to his castle. While fortified, the Tardis Castle, would be the first place where his brother and his spies would look for them. That's why he had set his sights on his cousin Donna and her husband Lee's castle.

 

After several days journeying, also intended to confuse their tracks (in case Rassilon decided to use his running-hounds), they finally arrived at the McAvoy Castle.

It was a beautifully proportioned building, not unlike —to great Lady Rose's relief— her father's castle.

Lord McAvoy's steward, Ianto Jones, was the first to welcome and lead them, imperturbable —as it was proper, to the chatelain.

Donna, John's cousin, was a beautiful woman around thirty with flamboyant red hair —which John envied— and beautiful blue eyes, whose fiery temper and outspokenness, extremely rare for that time, frightened more than one.

Her husband Lee was a gentle and serene man —whose appearance and manners were distinguished and noble, afflicted with a slight stuttering (stammering that didn't seem bother the talkative and noisy Donna). Lord McAvoy wasn't afraid of his wife: he was the only one she listened to and who knew that under a rough bark, Donna was of great tenderness and sweetness.

The couple, just as Rose's parents, loved each other tenderly and didn't hide this feeling —as unconventional for that time as appeared— even though it was regarded with suspicion and disapproval by their contemporaries.

Their little family was gathered in front of a good fire when the steward came in with their unexpected guests.

John apologized politely about their unannounced and numerous arrival, and after introducing his friends, he briefly recounted their predicament.

"I'll have your apartments prepared immediately." Without dawdle, the chatelaine, made a small gesture to Ianto, who left the room immediately. She stood, then approached Rose: "Come, my dear, don't be afraid, you're safe here, despite the presence of this imbecile, who serves me as my cousin, and all the trouble into which he put all of you." She gave John a dark look which he easily translated by "we'll talk later".

Donna, whose character strangely reminded Rose her mother's, was already on a the warpath. This, plus the scene of their family happiness she had witnessed, made her quickly feel comfortable with this motherly and vivacious woman. 

This had been Lady McAvoy's purpose: in fact she had immediately noticed —with her great delicacy and intuition— the distress that the young Lady couldn't hide.

-o-

After giving John a dressing-down, Donna inquired about the state of his cousin's heart. As she didn't seem able to shut up, she went to her advice (or rather, seen from the receiving end, her injunctions).

John told himself that it could have gone worst, but decided nevertheless —thus disobeying Donna's commands — to stay away from temptation and spent most of his time away from Lady Rose.

His heart cried because of this difficult decision, but his reason and his honor required it. He was so terribly scared of not being able to restrain himself and repeat the very same thing his whole being shouted at him to do: kiss again (and repeatedly) the Lady of his heart and never ever let her go. He cursed the fate that separated him forever from the Lady he knew he did not deserve.

If Athens cried, Sparta, didn't laugh: Rose, too, was in a tizzy. She couldn't chase John from her heart and thoughts. Telling herself, all the time, that he was her brother-in-law, that it was a sin, and utterly impossible (for so many other reasons), did not prevent her from loving him with all her heart and from crying bitterly because she sensed that he dodged her. She loved him but he did not love her. Worse, he was ashamed for letting himself be governed by the suggestion of a courtly love book and being guided by his instincts. She wondered bitterly if by his behavior, he was telling her that all hope was lost.

She opened her heart and confessed everything to Martha, "You see, even though I know that he's lost forever to me, I would be satisfied to know that he appreciates me."

"Lady Rose, Lord John does more than appreciate, or even admire you. He sincerely loves you." Martha repeated tirelessly, sincerely empathising with the state of her friend's heart.

Yet, Rose, didn't want to indulge in crazy expectations.

 

Donna was greatly affectionate and sweet with her, even if she didn't hesitate to —roundly— criticize his cousin for his lightness on the one hand, and on the other for his lacking of nerve with the woman he so clearly loved.

"My clumsy cousin loves you, Lady Rose, have no fears about that, even if he cannot act according to his wishes. Don't get your heart heavier with those dark thoughts."

Rose let her speak, but her heart still harbored doubts which deprived her of sleep and peace of mind.

 

Martha and Jack, seemed the only two in their group to take their situation more than philosophically. Rose even suspected that they were taking their confinement in the castle with something that resembled joy.

Mickey, Lord McAvoy's young squire, had fallen in love with the beautiful Martha and had asked permission from his master to court her. Permission, of course, that Lord McAvoy had been eager to grant.

Jack, meanwhile, flirted shamelessly with the steward's sister —who seemed not to be insensitive to the handsome knight's passionate oglings.

 

John, too, had noticed his friend's little game, therefore he decided to talk to Jack. Yet he hesitated: if he had seen his friend wooing every single human being (and everything else) that breathed, this time Jack seemed genuinely smitten.

He told himself bitterly that his friend, at least, could give free rein to his heart and to all the love's passion of an ardent spirit. As for him, he kept brooding; even if he'd have had hope with a woman who was not free to love and to be loved, Lady Rose (the most perfect and angelic woman), would never love _him_.

John was scandalized and horrified by his own actions: for kissing her, for just daring to raise his eyes on her. He thought she had to contemplate him with horror, and had to consider his mere presence as divine punishment. So staying away from her had a dual function: keeping away temptations, and not grieving a pure, gentle and noble soul with his presence.

 

Donna and Jack were beyond exasperation. The atmosphere in the castle was gloomy —with Rose and John weeping on each other— and they were starting to think that enough was enough.

Eventually, after some _slight_ pushes from Donna and Jack, John agreed to no longer run away and reappear, _properly_ , before Lady Rose. He would keep, however, his true feelings deep in his heart not to offend the Lady in question —and moreover protect his heart which wouldn't withstand an inevitable rejection.

His cousin sighed discontented to see that idiot behave with a so cold and formal politeness, that it bordered impoliteness. Moreover, Lady McAvoy, was deeply irritated to see John fight desperately (and ineffectively) against his heart. All he could do, was sigh and write poems he would never have the nerve to recite to Lady Rose. He was literally hopeless!

Rose was desperate and hardly touched her plate: her heart bled to see that John also suffered. But, for the peace of her heart, she kept telling herself that he only suffered from not being able to give her back the heart she had, gladly, given him.

-o-

Jack, who didn't like to stay inactive, had long sent his spies, and waited at any moment to be informed of the enemy's moves. As the old proverb said: "prevention is better than cure."

That morning, in fact, a messenger arrived at the castle. The news had, obviously, reached the dishonoured husband and Rassilon, impetuous and thoughtless as usual, had immediately jumped on his fastest horse direction Gallifrey Castle.

His fruitless research had then ridden him to Tardis Castle: the fugitives were nowhere to be found —but this was hardly astonishing, even for him.

Stubborn, he continued his research bribing anyone who might give an indication of where he might find them to finally wipe out his shame with their blood.

Unwilling to compromise or, worse, jeopardize his cousins (not naming Lady Rose), John, accompanied by his faithful friend, went to meet his brother determined to talk some sense into him.

The meeting took place in a clearing several miles from McAvoy Castle; as required (and expected ) by the circumstances, Rassilon was accompanied by a small army. 

Upon seeing his brother, Rassilon dismounted and rushed, sword unsheathed, towards John who had dismounted too, but —unlike him— hadn't made the slightest gesture to defend himself and even less to attack.

"Traitor. Cain. Impious. I'll kill you, then I'll wipe from the face of the earth the harlot that I have had the misfortune to marry."

"Calm down, Rassilon. We haven't done anything. Your wife has the most pure and noble heart, her honour has never been sullied and neither yours. I forbid you to call her that way; she doesn't deserve your scorn."

Rassilon without hearing a word, and blind with rage, charged against his brother raised sword as in a hand-to-hand combat.

Nobody among Rassilon's soldiers, dared intervene as they knew too well their leader's short temper which would easily led him to turn against his own men.

This was when Jack, the speed of lightning, intervened before John would pass to Rassilon's sword.

Everything went into confusion: a moment Rassilon charged, and the next he was on the floor: disarmed and unscathed.

By the time Rassilon had regained consciousness, and understood what had happened, John and Jack had ridden off full gallop.


	4. Courtly love: continuation and conclusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where (almost) everybody has a happy end.  
> Just a warning, nevertheless: mention of character death. It's just alluded, so nothing graphic.
> 
> Rules of courtly love  
> The following rules are found in _How Love May be Retained_.   
>  \- Marriage is no real excuse for not loving.   
> \- It is not proper to love any woman whom one should be ashamed to seek to marry.   
> \- When made public, love rarely endures.   
> \- The easy attainment of love makes it of little value; difficulty of attainment makes it prized.   
> \- Real jealousy always increases the feeling of love.

_So long a time has Love kept me a slave  
And in his lordship fully seasoned me  
That even though at first I felt him harsh,  
Now tender is his power in my heart.  
But when he takes my strength away from me  
So that my spirits seem to run away,  
My fainting soul then feels overcome1 And my face is drained of all its colour,  
For in me Love is working up such power  
He makes my spirits rant and wander off  
That rushing out they call1 My Lady, begging her to grant me grace.  
This happens every time she sees me  
and I am humbled more than you'll believe_.  
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Poems from 'Vita Nuova' 

Chapter 4 : Courtly love: continuation and conclusion

Rassilon jumped again on horseback roaring profanities and swearing, to anyone who would listen, that he would take revenge.

He and his men made their way to McAvoy Castle —the only one that remained to rummage thoroughly— where his spies had reported the presence of the fugitives.

He knew his cousin and he didn't expect a friendly reception but, anyway, he was in no mood to exchange compliments. He was there for revenge and he would wipe out his shame with the culprits' blood; cousin Donna and her army or not.

Donna, bless her, witnessing her cousin and his friend get on theirs horses and gallop away, had suspected the reason for the hasty leave. Not that it was particularly difficult to guess, and she was very smart and intuitive after all.

That was why she had given the order to prepare a safe retreat for her friends and a _warm_ welcome —a cauldron or two of boiling oil would be perfect on her opinion— for her other cousin. That said, she alone would do nicely.

As soon as a sentry signalled their approach, the drawbridge was lowered and lifted straight away again, after their passing.

Donna went to meet them, and without having to be arm-twisted, she gave her cousin a good and proper telling-off. "Are you deranged? Going alone to face your brother? Have you got death wishes? What use it will be to get yourself and your friend get killed?"

"Donna, I know what I'm doing."

"No, you don't. Go and reassure Lady Rose, she is nearly mad with anxiety."

Donna gave him such a hard look that John esteemed prudent not to be in her vicinity for the (still to be quantized) time being. He decided, anyway, that he would defend his beloved with his life, and instead of going to Lady Rose, he headed to the armory against his friend's advice.

Jack, grumbling against John's cowardice, went to present himself his homages to the fair Lady and recount her the meeting —expurgated of the sordid details, of course— with Rassilon. 

 

As expected, Rassilon arrived a few days later before his cousins' castle. Obviously, he found closed doors and drawbridge up. 

A squad, all armed to the teeth, waited for them looking rather inhospitable.

Lord McAvoy had indeed prepared a welcome worthy of a full and proper attack: every one of them was prepared to defend the castle and its inhabitants at all costs. Outside and inside.

"Those you seek are no more here, and even if they were, I wouldn't tell you. Turn tail and go away," said quietly, but threatening, the master of the castle who was among his soldiers.

"You'll not stop me to get my hands on them," yelled Rassilon.

"Are you sure?" Lord Lee gestured, and his soldiers marched forward —although without grasping their weapons.

Rassilon and his men, undoubtedly outnumbered, looked at each other, then took a few steps back. The threat had been received: loud and clear.

"I'll kill them!" Lord McAvoy's cousin spat.

"You will have to find them first. Go away, Rassilon, and do not add a defeat to ridicule."

"I'll return with an entire army, and I'll walk over your dead body... and your entire family's, while I'm at it. Cousins or not!" Rassilon threatened while making his horse turn despite himself.

 

Lord McAvoy wasted no time to inform and reassure his family and friends about Lady Rose's husband's retreat: in fact she had been eating her heart out for the valiant knights' safety.

John was consumed with guilt. Everything was his fault: it was because of him that Lady Rose had to flee from her own castle. He was the one who had ruined her reputation forever. He had, moreover, behaved like a rutting animal. Not only had he endangered the woman —the angel— he loved, but he had risked his dear cousins' lives. Without mentioning Jack's. He kept telling himself that he wasn't worth more than his elder brother.

Jack and his cousins tried to talk some sense into him, but John was determined to confront his brother once and for all. Even if it meant that it could cost him his life. He wanted to redeem himself, and indeed redeem he would.

Lord McAvoy and his wife, failing to convince him, had to lock their cousin in his apartments. He would remain there until he would have recovered his reason and common sense.

-o-

Rassilon, mad with rage, had returned to his castle with the intention to raise an army, but was greeted, upon his entering the Great Hall, by the steward carrying a message from his formidable father: _Behave as a man: return straightaway on the battlefield, the battle rages. Do your duty as a soldier and honour our name. Do not add the humiliation of cowardice to the ridicule of a publicly cuckold husband_.

Rassilon paled. All that was left was to obey and leave immediately. His revenge would wait: it would be all the sweeter.

The journey was long and arduous, only his dark vengeful thoughts accompanied him.

Once in Poitiers, he threw himself body and soul into the battle to forget his disappointments and feed his rage.

 

The old Lord Gallifrey hadn't written only to his elder son. A few days later, John —indeed— received his missive, imperious as usual: _Needless to let you know how little satisfied I am with you. I hope that your conscience will guide you in the coming years. You will need it: Lord Pond has agreed to give you his daughter as wife, be deserving this honour_.

Upon receiving it, John —as well— paled mortally. He couldn't disobey, but he couldn't marry Damsel Amelia either: Lady Rose would be lost forever. She wouldn't even grant him her friendship. What was he going to do?

The news of John's future nuptials was, like all secrets, gossiped around the castle and the area plunging poor Rose in abject misery.

"Lady Rose, don't worry. He loves you with all his heart."

"But Martha, how can you say that? Have you forgotten that he'll marry Damsel Pond?" cried the poor Rose.

"He _has_ to marry her, it's different. Or, more accurately, it is his father who wants him to marry her," wisely replied her friend.

"It's the same thing," sobbed Rose.

"No, it's not at all the same thing, and you know it very well."

Rose didn't answer, but she was desperate; _he_ would be lost forever. Even more than at present. How would she live without his friendship?

John said to himself that it was time to finally speak to Lady Rose. Alone. She had to know the depth of his love and admiration for her. Even if she'd be outraged to hear him professing his love for her when he was to marry another woman. He had to do it, even if it'd be for the first and last time, and all hope would be to be banished forever.

In the hope that fate would, finally, be kind to him, he decided to turn a deaf ear to his father —despite the risks— and wait as long as possible to obey the paternal's orders.

-o-

The following father's missive, threw chaos (and satisfaction among at least some members of the household, including the servants) in the castle, and despair (for differents reasons) in John's and Rose's hearts: _Be deserving the name you will later wear, future Lord Gallifrey: your brother has heroically fallen in Poitiers_.

Just when the Lady of his thoughts was finally free, it was he who was no longer. He cursed again his fate which separated him from Lady Rose. He felt guilty for feeling just a... mitigated pain for his elder brother's —after all, premature— disappearance.

As for Rose, she endured a thousand deaths: her soul, compassionate and gentle, wept for her poor husband's sombre destiny. She felt guilty and sad for him (despite his somewhat austere —and bloodthirsty— character, plus his assassination attempts) for having failed to love him despite all her efforts. The love —almost at first sight— she had felt for John, added and even doubled her suffering and guilt which were not softened by the hope of being loved in return.

John decided that the time had finally come to make amends (and give himself a chance, despite everything) with Lady Rose, and began to behave with her as during the first days of their acquaintance.

Unfortunately the reception was not what he had expected: Lady Rose certainly welcomed his advances politely —albeit imbued with a certain coldness, but the laughter was gone from her eyes and her beautiful cheeks no longer blushed.

"He shouldn't try to please me, does he think to Damsel Amelia? Does he take into consideration the pain she could endure knowing that he practices his charms on another woman? A woman he doesn't even love?" Rose lamented.

Martha, weary but adorable and caring until the end, just shrugged her shoulders and left her friend empty her bruised heart, even if she thought that Lady Rose should have to decide: either she did want his advances, either she did not. But she was pretty sure that, indeed, she did.

The situation seemed inextricable, so that Lady McAvoy and Jack, were almost inclined to come to the less gentlemanly manners to resolve the matasse and bring peace to the house.

Fortunately, it turned out to be unnecessary.

A messenger, bearing extraordinary news, arrived to the Castle: Damsel Amelia Pond had fled with Rory Williams, Knight attached to the Pond Castle, and had got married in the greatest secrecy.

This young Lady's parents weren't as much chagrined (or shocked) as they should have been.  
It was their only child's happiness which was at stake; it was better to spend the rest of her life stuck with someone she loved, rather than with someone she did not; as charming as he might be. Moreover Lady Amelia possessed her mother's fiery and decided temper, and when she wanted something, she was unstoppable.

The news provoked, of course, all the clamor and a certain amount of consequences, of any sort, that one is entitled to expect.

John exulted, the way was finally clear. If Lady Rose accepted, his love, his hand and his heart would be hers. But... would she accept? Would she be content with him? Certainly Lady Rose had made him better, but would he be enough for a Lady who had the right to claim what's best?

Actually John went from one extreme to the other: joy and confidence in the future, and the blackest despair at the thought that she'd reject him.

He opened his heart to his friend who, like Martha, had the wisdom to let him talk all he wanted even though he had his own ideas on the matter.

 

Martha told herself that she could finally think about her own happiness, and accept Mickey's court and hand (she had fallen in love with the young squire almost immediately), without too much concern about her friend's happiness —which seemed, at present, certain.

The wedding was organized in the blink of an eye. All other knights and squires of the area were invited: the company was numerous, the celebrations a great success and the entertainment abundant and noisy. The bride was breathtakingly beautiful in a richly embroidered dress, which Lady Rose gifted her for the occasion.

Rose was thrilled for her friend, and her joy was doubled by the assurance that her friend would not only be as happy as she deserved, but she wouldn't leave her as her husband would be part of her household (wedding gift from Lord McAvoy).

The only thing that was missing for her joy to be complete was to finally be assured that the man she loved from the depths of her heart returned her the favour.

Jack, the serious relationships nemesis, seemed to have given in to contagion, and begun seriously —and successfully— court the steward's sister.

-o-

"Lady Rose!" Exclaimed joyfully the future Lord Gallifrey.

"Lord John," she replied by making him a polite bow, "I am delighted to see you finally going out for some fresh air in Lady McAvoy's gardens, they are splendid in this season."

"Certainly, my Lady, but I came in the gardens with the purpose of talking with you about an extremely important matter."

"Tell me, my brother, I'm all ears."

Lady Rose's excessive politeness was like a stab in his heart and John made a delicate grimace, but he was determined to talk to her at all costs. So he took a deep breath and handed her a rosebud. "Do you see this, my Lady? This is only a promise of a rose, just a bud that will bloom if given it the opportunity. With good soil, good water and care this bud will flourish and become what it was born to become: a beautiful, strong, healthy and fragrant rose."

Rose didn't see, exactly, where he was getting at, but she let him continue; frowning slightly her delicate and noble forehead.

"What I mean, my Lady, is that love is exactly the same. If love is given the chance to grow, and if it's fed enough, it will become strong and healthy. Will you give this button the chance to become a rose? Will you allow me to take my chances and ask you to let me prove the depths of my feelings? And if I'm worthy enough, to earn one day your good opinion? "

John dropped to his knees and took her hand, gazing her anxiously in the eye, trying to read her answer in its depths.

Lady Rose was afraid she had misunderstood his speech. This couldn't be true. Was he saying what she thought he was saying? The speech, however, was clear enough.

"You mean that..."

"Yes, my sweet and fair Lady. I love you from the bottom of my heart, and I long to prove it to you, if you agree to keep your title unchanged. Do you agree, therefore to double the title of Lady Gallifrey by marrying the other brother too? "

 

Donna had accompanied her lady-in-waiting in her mission of monitoring his cousin.

Knowing him, he was able to fail to win the hand and heart of a woman who loved him as much as he loved her.

"So?" asked Lady McAvoy anxiously.

"He has fallen to his knees, and he's speaking gently to her," Clara whispered from her hiding place.

"And? What about Lady Rose?" whispered back the chatelain.

"Nothing. She has let him take her hand, and seems to cry. Do you reckon, my Lady, that's a bad sign?"

"Hush, keep looking. So ? What are they doing?"

"Oh my Lady, he has taken her in his arms... and he's kissing her, and she's letting him. What do we do?"

"Nothing special my Clara; just warn the kitchens to provide, very soon, a nuptial banquet," she said rising, all smiles, from their hiding place.

Donna had never been so satisfied with herself and his cousin's obedience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since the beginning I planned to get rid of Rassilon. In order to kill him at the battle of Poitiers (19th September 1356), I've described him as a soldier. He had to be consistent, hadn't he? But...  
> There is no evidence of his death: maybe he's just faked his death to rebuilt a happier life abroad, without the burden of his name or his father's beliefs. Maybe he's really dead.  
> What's sure is that neither John, nor Rose (or the others characters) will ever be annoyed by him.
> 
> Thank-you so very much to you all, wether you've reviewed, left kudos or read until the end, it means the world to me.  
> So many thanks to all the fantastic authors who with their fantastic stories have made me fall in love, cry, laugh, stay hooked, set pen to paper and battle against my shyness.


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